


Parisian Warmth

by Liravell



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: April Filles, Children, Drabble, Family, Gen, Look I'm Writing Again, Memories, Past, Pre-Canon, Well not really but it's lady focused, or at least lady pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liravell/pseuds/Liravell
Summary: In the voyage from one fruitless meeting to another Anna Maria tries to warm her heart with memories...





	Parisian Warmth

Paris, so full of possibilities, was cold. Anna Maria wrapped the scarf around her arms tightly, rubbing her hands together trying to stay away from carriage’s leaking door. She looked up at her son. Smiling, bouncing, almost radiating with warmth and happiness as they wandered from one social meeting to another. Refusal after refusal made their pointless ramble even colder. Looking at the shine in Wolfgang’s eyes she dreamed of those warm days filled only with joy from so long ago…

They spend the holidays in one of their relatives’ summer houses. Sun shone brightly through the tree crowns, covering them in stains of light. Her dear Leopold was just next to her, painting her portrait on the canvas of his mind, trying to save the moment before another journey. She could tell by his looks, delicate like brush strokes. She could tell by his smile… That rare smile he had only in the presence of a masterpiece. The afternoon’s air was only disturbed by the laughter of two, little angels running around the garden -  Nannerl  playing with a hoop, Wolfie chasing butterflies and looking for fairies amongst the flowers. 

Anna Maria took the painted teacup in her hands. Sipping the warm drink she watched her family in this moment of rest. As much rest as one could get in this family, she thought when she heard Wolfgang’s shouts coming from the side of the garden on the opposite side of the house.

‘Mom! Mom, can you come here?’ His voice indicated how urgent it was.

‘Should I-’ started Leopold.

‘No, no. I’ll go.’ she smiled at him and set the teacup on the table. 

‘Mom, please!’

She stood up, taking the folds of her dress in her hand. With a few decisive, quick steps she was on the other side of the building, looking for her son.

‘What is it, darl- Wolfgang!’ And there he was.

The small, summer house on one side was covered by beautiful, thick rose bushes.

‘Mom, I was only trying to find some fairies’ cried the boy. Anna Maria noticed the fear in his voice and tears filling his big eyes. She saw the branches full of thorns entangling his small body. She saw the sharp spikes ready to pierce his delicate skin. But of course, the shade and the mystery of roses would be a perfect place to find fairies, wouldn’t it? And so they captured her Wolfie. A child searching for a bit of magic in this hostile place.

‘You won’t tell father, will you?’ he looked up at her and she noticed the tears that welled in his eyes for so long finally fell on his cheeks. ‘Please.’

‘Of course, I won’t, sweetie.’ she sighed. ‘And now, don’t move. Struggling will only make it worse.’

With his every breath she could feel, more than see, the plants around him getting tighter as if refusing to let him go.

‘Yes, mom’ he said with a shallow breath, still trying to hold back the sobs and the fear.

‘I’m gonna hold some of the branches and I want you to slowly, very slowly, try to walk out of this, yes?’

What else could she do? At this point, she couldn’t care less about the perfect roses that gardeners looked over for so long, or for her dress that was one of her favourites. As brutally and quickly as she could she walked into the flowers pushing them back with all of her body, forming a way out for her son.

‘Go on, go’ she encouraged him, trying to untangle him slowly from this mess they both made. A lock of her, a piece of clothing stuck on a thorn, one by one she took care of them as her child slowly walked out of the bushes he plunged so eagerly into. And he was finally out. She left the roses herself, ripping out every part of her dress that was still held by the flowers. When both of them were finally free she felt a pair of hands around her waist.

‘Thanks, mom’ the boy said with his face in her skirt. She crouched to face him and wiped the two, salty paths on his face with her sleeve.

‘It’s okay now.’ A kiss on the forehead made the boy smile again. ‘Let’s get changed now. And we better take care of your hand.’

The boy looked at his right hand and quickly at his left when he noticed some blood. His eyes widened slowly but he did not panic.

Yet his voice was still full of uncertainty. ‘And what will we tell father?’ 

‘How about we got attacked by a werewolf?’ she laughed and let herself fall on the grass.

So warm. So long ago. Not every day was perfect and for a mother, there is no day of rest but at least they were all together and they were laughing. Sitting in the carriage that rode hopelessly through winter Paris streets she could see the thorns and roses around her son. Entangled. Trapped in this city. But this time she wasn’t sure if they would get out. 


End file.
